This is Gonna Hurt
by Tori1999
Summary: Stydia AU. Lydia is the head of the biggest drug ring in New York City. The only name the cops have is Copper Rose, she could be anyone and they'd be none the wiser. Stiles Stillinski is a rookie detective in the NYPD. With his fathers reputation he's been able to climb the ranks quickly - but small time sellers isn't enough. He wants to big. Undercover perhaps?
1. roses have thorns

_"I had a one way ticket to a place where all the demons go,_

 _Where the winds don't change,_

 _And nothing in the ground can ever grow,_

 _No hope, just lies,_

 _And you're taught to cry in your pillow,_

 _But I survived."_

Every time it happened she'd cry. No one knew but she did. When the sun couldn't see her and the door was shut she'd sob like the heavens was killing her. Lydia hated death. Anything to do with it made her skin crawl. That's why when Allison gave her the message that Jackson was done for she crawled into her bed and cried for him. It had been inevitable from the day she met him. He was power crazy and wanted the world at his fingertips. She could feel him inching his way closer to her, trying to dig some dirt, make a hole for her grave. It had to be put a stop to. She'd been at this too long for someone as careless as Jackson to steal it all away from her. Allison said he didn't even see it coming, it was quick and efficient. No mess, no hassle. Easy. That word made Lydia feel sick. Jackson was good at what he did, he was smart, skilled. He'd taken down men twice his size without breaking a sweat. He deserved a fight. To die with his fists clenched and his lips in a snarl. He deserved a chance. But Lydia wasn't naïve enough to allow him one of those. You keep giving people chances and eventually one of them takes it.

When the moon was gone and the sunlight illuminated her room, the tears had dried up. With water splashed on her face, any evidence was wiped away. She trailed down to the kitchen in sweats and a t-shirt. It was nearing on eight in the morning and she had to get to work.

XxxxX

"Morning, Miss Martin." Her primly dressed assistant greeted Lydia at the doors, "you have an appointment with Mr Harris later today to discuss the new covers for next summer, and a meeting at 12 with your lawyer to discuss financing." She kept her feet moving and her hips swaying as Tracey struggled to catch up. "I moved your dentist appointment back an hour so you'd have time for lunch, and your morning coffee is on your desk along with your schedule for today and next months articles that need your approval."

"Thank you Tracy." The assistant was good, it was a shame she'd be gone next month. Lydia forced the glass door open with her butt. One hand carrying the trench coat she'd regretted bringing, and the other carrying her snakeskin Gucci bag they sent her as a 'gift'. Her office was pristine as usual, the wall opposite the door completely glass. Her furniture was modern and bold. Two red suede couches were facing each other in the middle of the room. A black shiny desk was in front of the glass walls. The huge leopard print chair Allison had bought her when they finally knocked Deucalion off his pedestal and took over the Madison territory. Reaching as far as Wisconsin was a big deal back then. Now she had shipments being sent out to Europe and profits rolling in. Nevertheless she kept the chair, it was a symbol of how for they'd come.

Lydia dumped her bag in the big draw by her feet and began paging through the work on her desk. There was a good amount to do and her schedule left by Tracy was fairly clear. Today seemed easy enough. That was all until a small petite Asian girl decided to pop in for a morning chat.

"Lydia?" The girl in question perked up from her seat.

"Kira, hey." This was a rare occurrence. She always tried her best to keep the magazine and the drug cartel separate, but sometimes her friends forgot the value of circumspection. "What brings you here?" She didn't even try to hide the sourness from her voice.

"I know, I know, but we have a problem." The girl fretted all the way over to her desk.

Lydia felt a sickening feeling settle in her stomach. Usually these problems were resolvable, but she knew eventually one wouldn't be. That Kira, or Isaac, or maybe even Allison would tell her something had happened and it would be the beginning of the end. The fall she wouldn't get back up from. "What's wrong?" Lydia reached across to the remote by her computer mouse and aimed it at the sensor in the right hand corner. The room became overcome with darkness as black shutters covered the windows. Almost immediately the glass chandelier in the middle of the room lit up and the darkness that arose Lydia's heartbeat was gone.

"It's Erica. She was the one who offered to go after Jackson, and-."

"Allison said he was taken care of, don't tell me otherwise Yukimura." Lydia raised her eyebrows at the brunette.

"No, Jacksons in the morgue as we speak." Lydia felt the familiar wrench she associated with death. "Its just that, well you know how Erica is; she gets caught up in the whole thing. Likes to play with them a bit..."

"Kira..." Lydia warned carefully. She knew not to punish the messenger for the crime, but she could punish her for withholding the message, right?

"She got co- sloppy, and she didn't wear her gloves."

"oh god." Lydia knew what was happening, they had a fingerprint. For fucks sake Erica.

"Hayden's sister told her, they managed to pull a fingerprint...from his cheek."

Lydia sighed loudly. Erica was always a loose canon from the start, she should've seen this coming. Again, Lydia was naïve and thought people could actually change.

"What do we do?"

"She's out."

"But-"

"I'm not letting her screw this up for the rest of us." Lydia hated loose ends. She let Erica run away, or try and cover it up, it could be the thread that pulls the whole fabric apart. "I want everything gone. You get rid of all her product, her cash, everything I ever gave her is burnt, tonight."

"I got it."

"Except the gun. The one she used on Jackson, the cops'll need it for evidence. It'll have her fingerprints on." Lydia logged on to her computer and Kira left the room, nothing more was said on the matter.

The redhead spent the rest of her working morning handing out approvals for articles on upcoming brands, allowing editors extra money for their budgets and firing models that only wanted blue M&Ms. She revelled in the scandalised look on their faces when it dawns on them how replaceable they were. People said beauty was timeless but that's just a childish saying to make pensioners feel better about themselves. Beauty wasn't in how high your cheekbones were. It was more than that. And presumptuous girls who thought their duck face was a gift from God didn't last long in this industry. Lydia knew because she owned this industry. People like her who decided what people like the city business woman or the teenage fashionista read and saw, were the people who controlled not just what fashion was but what it would be.

After the meeting with Mr Harris, Lydia met up with Danny in a coffee shop. He was one of her only friends who was completely oblivious to Lydia's side job. She met him at an airport when his flight was cancelled because of the Christmas snow. Lydia in all her kindness offered him a seat on her private jet which was headed to the same place as his flight. They'd hit it off straight away, and he joined her for a night out partying in an exclusive club. After that night they'd been great friends. But Danny was kind and innocent. It'd blow his mind if he ever found out what the NYPD called her.

After her coffee date Lydia popped some gum and took the elevator up to the top floor. The redhead made her way down to her office without interruption. Which was unfortunate because perhaps if someone had interrupted her they could've warned her about the Hale in her office.

"Mr Hale." Lydia bit out as she closed her office door behind her. The gum in her mouth became an annoyance as she looks around for a tissue to spit it out.

"Miss Martin, you seem surprised. We did have the appointment today right?"

Lydia vaguely remembered Tracy sprouting it off this morning. "We do." She swallowed the gum down eventually. The whole 'it'll stay in your stomach for years' thing was a myth anyway. Probably.

"Well then." he gestured vaguely to the couch opposite him and began opening his suitcase to pull out papers. "I trust no one will be of interruption."

"My assistant would know better than to allow that." he nodded at her response.

"These are the figures from the last few months, and I cannot wait for you to see them." he was practically bouncing on his heels.

"Are they good?" Lydia asked with boredom. The money being brought in at the time being was enough for her liking. Peter always wanted more though.

"Good?" he asked incredulously, "I don't know what is happening in Europe right now but our numbers have almost doubled since last year. Local business is still increasing too. Over 3 states have increased their revenue by 50%. You Lydia Martin are flourishing." Lydia looked over the sheets displaying exactly what he had just told her. The profits were definitely bigger.

"Wow." She browsed through them again just to make sure.

"This, however, leads me to another proposal." Everything with Peter was like a show. She always told Allison this is why he was so good in the courtroom. The guy could talk himself out of a fort knox.

"Go on."

"The magazine is pulling in too much. I said the exact same, last year. Now the numbers are increasing heavily, you need something else."

"Nope, I told you. These big numbers are only temporary, I just have to wait it out and eventually they'll relax. There's no need to go overboard."

"Lydia, you're not _listening_ to me. You need something else. Sooner or later the magazine will be breaking profitable records and people will start sniffing around. If you don't find something else to launder the money through someone will find a slip up and you'll be caught up."

"They shouldn't find anything other than good business. Not if you do your job."

"Don't be stupid. That's how they get you."

Lydia swallowed heavily. She hated venturing out, making new adjustments. She was thankful for what she had, and going further meant more chances for failure. "What am I supposed to do? Open a hotel?"

"No, we need something believable. Nothing that'll arise too many questions."

"Any ideas?" Lydia shrugged helplessly.

"You should open a chain, something off of the magazine. Build on the hype of it."

"Like fashion?"

"What about beauty? A nail salon!" Peter clapped proudly...at himself.

"I have a better idea."

XxxxX

"Everyone, I would like to refer you to the paperwork Tracy is handing around." The younger brunette began distributing the folders to the girls on the round table. "This years numbers have taken a jump. All of your wages have therefore been bumped by 6%." There was a chorus of 'what's?' and 'oh my god's' before the circle of employees went silent as they read through the papers. "You'll read that we've found some space in the budget for a new venture-"

"Makeover studios?" A blonde at the far left interrupted with scepticism.

Lydia paused mid-speech to throw her a threatening glance, "yes, we open one here in New York to start off with. Young girls can come in for hair and makeup to be done professionally. Then they have a photo shoot of their very own in the same place. We give young girls the opportunity to see what it's like to be a model for the day. We can encourage birthday parties, Christmas gifts, anything we want."

"How do we get these professionals in though? I mean if we want this to be good they can't be just any rookies off the streets." Allison spoke with fluency as usual, gesturing to the paperwork in her hand with a pen.

"We give some of the funds to charity. 30%? People love to look like they care about the less fortunate."

"I love it. I think people will really respond to something like this." Allison grinned happily.

"What about clothes? We could use last seasons designer items and offer kids to try them on." A brunette Lydia couldn't name offered with interest.

"I don't know, wearing clothes six other people have worn before you. I don't think it'll sell." The girl next to Lydia answered.

"But they're designer clothes, not just knock offs."

"They could be optional. It's not like we have anything else to do with the stuff."

"Why don't we have the big designers in cabinets. Like the floor length dresses. Not the Versace jeans, but red carpet things."

"Celebrities could donate them, we wouldn't need hundreds."

"Not like they're gonna wear them again."

"Won't they be too big for young girls?"

Lydia checked her watch, "this is all great. How about you write all your ideas down and we can set up a meeting. I'm also gonna need a special task force to work specifically on this. It could be a pay raise for some of you so don't slack OK." She received a wave of nods and tight smiles before they started packing up. Tracy jumped up from her stool where she'd been scribbling down notes and began gathering Lydia's things.

She left the meeting room feeling good. People seemed on board with the studios and no one had any questions about why we were doubling our sales while the economy was worsening. She heard the sound of stiletto heels behind her and slowed down.

"Sales were pretty good last month. Almost ground breaking." Allison walked beside her. She always had the appearance of a journalist more than a fashion editor. She wouldn't wear the brightly coloured dresses that most girls were pulling off around here. Neither would she wear makeup that peeled off at night it was so thick. She wore nice, simple clothes that still managed to look in season. And she'd never needed lots of makeup to look twice as pretty as the models that walked these corridors. The heel standards she did like to live up to though.

"I know, weird right?" Lydia stopped at the front desk.

"I'm just happy about the extra 6%."

Lydia chuckled before turning to Lori, "messages?"

"6." The girl covered the microphone on her headset as she spoke. As usual she was on the phone. She handed over some post its and turned back to her work. Allison began talking again about what she's gonna do with the extra money, despite the fact that they both know she'd be getting a much higher raise than 6%. Lydia tuned it out as she thumbed through her notes: 1 cancelled photographer, one decline of a job offer (she was gonna regret that now), 2 cancelled appointments, one meeting request for advertisement (not her department), and one missed dentists appointment - crap.

After 3 phone calls to one make up company, one local newspaper and her dentistry office the clock finally read 5:00. Lydia wasn't one to work late. She worked to the same time as those she paid. Allison met her walking out and the two clambered into Lydia's town car. Aidan, Lydia's bodyguard she hired 3 months ago, was already waiting with two glasses of champagne.

"Good afternoon ladies." He greeted them upon entrance.

"Aidan, you're a life saver." Lydia took the glass off him gratuitously. Of course Allison declined politely, she wast one for drinking in daylight.

"Home?" Ethan proposed from the front seat. Lydia was lucky to find them. Twin bodyguards. They're like Gods personal present, just for her.

"Home. That sounds amazing." Allison sighed as she pulled out her phone.

"How was your day?" Aided asked politely. He really was a sweetheart.

"Tiring, boring, dull, normal."

He laughed and reached over to refill her glass. Allison didn't speak for the rest of the car ride. She was scrolling through her Instagram feed as usual. Keeping up with celebrity fashion etc.

Aidan continued with his relentless flirting the whole journey. Lydia didn't exactly flirt back but that didn't stop him.

"C'mon, working with all those models all day, you've never even considered it?" It was shameful really.

They pulled into the complex garage and Ethan parked up the car. Allison climbed out first and Lydia after. She tried to ignore the firm grip Aidan put on her waist as he helped her out. Allison didn't. Instead she rolled her eyes and looked away. Allison had never really like Aidan. Apparently he was irritating and abrasive. Lydia didn't see it.

Ethan used his key to work the elevator up to their floor - the top one of course. The boys offered to stay but Allison insisted they leave. She assured them we'd be fine.

"I spoke to Kira." This was all Allison said. Lydia sighed and pulled some red wine out of a cupboard, the bottle was half empty from the night before.

"I did what I had to do." Lydia poured the red liquid into two glasses. Allison chose to take one this time.

"You made the right call, but they're gonna hate you for it. Cora, Boyd, Isaac, they liked Erica."

"They should've told her to wear freaking gloves then."

"I agree, but don't say that to them." Allison smirked as she took a sip. The girl was impossible to read. No matter how many years Lydia had known her she still couldn't predict her next move. No matter how many secrets Allison shared she still seemed like a mystery. Perhaps that's why Lydia had kept her around. She was hard to get bored of.

The redhead reached into a draw and pulled out the black TV remote. She flicked onto the first channel which just happened to be the news, "a young girl today was arrested in her home in Boston. Police have yet to release a statement regarding the arrest but sources say the girl is suspected of the recent assassination of Jackson Whittmore, that occurred in his Chicago apartment earlier this week. The murder has been described as professional and brutal. There was a single gunshot wound to his head, and forensics suggest he was forced to his knees before he was shot. Our associate is at the home of Eric-" the TV cut out.

Both girls stared at the screen for a few moments after Lydia had shut it off. Lydia couldn't lie, it felt good to have her loose ends cut off.


	2. and cops have bullets

_"People tell me to be cautious,_

 _People tell me not to lose my self control,_

 _People tell me to be flawless,_

 _People tell me not to let myself evolve."_

"Congratulations Stillinski. I'm surprised you even made it in today."

"Please don't yell at me." Stiles managed to cover the entirety of his face with both hands, and it still wasn't enough.

"No ones ever drunk Ennis under the table before. You should be celebrating." He felt the hard pat on his back, and grunted in response. For the first time, he'd been invited out with his squad for a drink. Only his version of 'a drink' was distinctly different from there's. In his version it'd be one beer, maybe two if they felt like it and then they'd tap out. In their version, it was shots until you couldn't walk and then beer kegs Stiles still didn't know the origin of. Seriously where did they get beer kegs? He wanted them desperately to like him, so stupidly anything they asked of him he did. And that included picking up the tab. He'd be eating beans for weeks. On the plus side it seemed to have worked so far.

"Please let me on desk duty today." Stiles moaned from the sweater he was hiding under. Even though the dress code was business wear nobody actually paid attention to it.

"Sure, maybe you can actually make some progress on those files."

"They aren't files. It's just one massively oversized coaster for my coffee that you may be so kind to fetch."

"Nice try Stillinski." He didn't need to see Theo's face to know he was enjoying this. Bastard.

"What's wrong with him?" He could hear the shuffling of Clarke making her way over to him, "is he sick?" He was forced to raise his head when she began prodding his shoulder.

"More like hungover, guy really went for it last night." Theo lent on his palm looking at Stiles amused.

"I'll get you a coffee. You might wanna straighten up before the captain comes in." She gave him a sympathetic smile before walking into the direction of the coffee maker. Clarke was his favourite detective. She was assigned to the Copper Rose case at the same time as him, and was equally annoyed. The case was a dead end and had been for years. The girl just wasn't supposed to be found. They had practically nothing on her. Just speculation of different cold case homicides they could (if they stretched) link to her general vicinity. The captain had tried sending undercover cops in to at least get a glimpse of her, but they'd either come back empty handed or in a body bag. The girl didn't give any half measures.

He checked his phone and immediately turned the brightness down to as low as it could go. His head was pounding too much to debate whether having another load of aspirin an hour after the last would kill him. The brunette visibly perked up at the scent of coffee wafting up his nose. Clarke placed it on his desk and took her seat opposite him. He envied her lack of paperwork so much. The liquid was a little too hot to be drinking but he couldn't care less and drank as much as he could before it burned his tongue.

The conversations grew quickly around him. Brett arrived unusually late, but he didn't have the energy to comment on his tardiness. Captain Finstock was 15 minutes late as usual so he had time for an extra coffee. The noise in the precinct was extra loud today, and that wasn't just because of the rum. A guy a little older than Stiles was found dead last night in his home. The boy had a bullet wound just above his ear. Stiles had scanned the file right after his first coffee. This would be all they were focusing on for a while until they either figured it out or the case went cold. His money was on the latter. Bullet wound to the head at close range meant this was a professional hit, he wasn't killed - he was crossed off. People who did that never left traces, ever. Even if they had DNA, chances are it wouldn't be in the system.

"Stillinski, my office!" Finstock boomed across the squad room. As always he'd couldn't just politely ask, he had to yell as if Stiles wasn't a mere two metres away.

The boy mumbled cusses all the way to the door. The captain was sat at his desk, pen in one hand and stress ball in the other. "Morning, Cap." Stiles saluted him as he plopped into the leather seat opposite his superior.

"Do I look like Steve Rogers to you? Captain, OK? Or is that too much for your little brain to comprehend?"

"Sorry, Captain." Stiles rubbed his eyes, trying his best to wake up for this.

"Did you read the file on the dead boy?"

"The Whittmore kid? Yeah, but that was in Chicago, that's not our jurisdiction."

"I'm not asking you to investigate. They aren't gonna find anything anyway, we both know that."

"You think it's related to the Copper Rose case?" Stiles squinted, half in confusion, and half because the sun peeked out from behind a cloud.

"I looked into it, the guy was a street dealer until last November when we think he started climbing the ranks. Some money was transferred into his account, $200,000. It came from an off shore account, we can't trace it back, and I highly doubt we will."

"He was working for her. Probably means he was killed by her too."

"Probably." Finstock nodded along cautiously. "She's been out there for 7 years Stillinski. She's made us look like idiots from the start. We're no closer to figuring out who she is than we were 6 years ago."

"What do you expect us to do." Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. He was tired and in pain, and this pointless conversation was of no help. They'd had similar talks before and come to the same conclusion, they had to wait for a slip up. As of yet they'd been sitting ducks.

"I wanna send someone undercover."

Stiles raised his eyebrows in response. 5 detectives had gone undercover after Copper Rose. 2 had come back after a year with absolutely nothing. Apparently Copper Rose was nonexistent. The other two... One was found in a dumpster outside a Chinese restaurant. And the other was poisoned while he was at home. Both cruel and ruthless murders.

"Do you think we have a way in?" Stiles frowned at his Captain. Unless something had surfaced, undercover work was pointless.

"Some of the guys Jackson dealt with, Jacob Arith and Holly Underwood. They're still on the streets in Chicago and selling. They could be a way in."

"Sir, with all do respect, it seems like a reach. Even if these two would talk, there's no guarantee they know who Jackson's in was. And on the odd chance, they know and we find this other person, they're probably not gonna talk easy. And even after that there's gonna be other connections before we'd get even close to her. The only way this could be worth the risk is if it was a direct in. Anything else is just playing with fire."

"Stillinski, risk and reward remember." Finstock leant forwards on his desk and did that creepy eye contact thing. "If you wanna earn some respect around here, you've got to take some risks."

Stiles sighed and looked at his hands. His head was hurting too much to make such big life decisions. He needed to land some bigger cases if he wanted to become more essential in his team. Then again, Copper Rose wasn't just some bigger case. It was the biggest. At least behind terrorists and stuff. It was the biggest he could get his hands on. The pay off would be huge. But the risk of death is just as big. She could put him down before he even gets the chance to meet her. That is definitely an important aspect. If he got in with her gang, he might actually meet her. This mystery he's been reading about for the same amount of time a mother carries her child, longer in fact, could be in arms reach. He always pictured her with red hair, that's why she was known as Copper Rose, at least that's what he thought. He also pictured her as in her late 40s, 50s maybe. Sat in some big chair in an underground dungeon with men surrounding her looking stoic and untouchable. He didn't expect the reality to be the same. In fact he had an inkling it would be a man with a thick foreign accent that had been living in the Bahamas for the last year. Maybe he'd just never know.

"OK." Stiles winced as the word left his lips. He tasted a bitterness on his tongue.

"You need to know what you're getting into here Stillinski. You'll have a new identity, a new apartment, new clothes. If we're going to do this we want you to have the best chance possible. That means deep cover. Deep." He stretched the word out long enough for Stiles to fidget in his seat. "We're talking no contact for months. This goes down with the big guys and them only."

"I understand, sir." And he did. This was either the beginning of his career or the end of his life. Either way he didn't have that much to lose and he had so much to gain.

XxxxX

"You Holly?"

"That depends who's asking." The girl gave him a once over before returning her eyes to the road.

"I'm looking for someone I thought you might help." He pulled his black hoodie further around him.

"What's the name?" She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the road, but Stiles didn't let that deter him.

"Jackson."

"I don't know any Jacksons, sorry." She barely took a second to think.

"I think you do."

"You can think what ever you want."

Stiles could feel his hands start to shake in the cold, and he grew impatient. "He was doing business with someone. I need that persons name."

She took another hard look at him. He could see the word 'cop' blaring in her head with a question mark after it. Shit.

He could tell by the heavy bags under her eyes she was far from clean. Her hair looked knotty and was in a ponytail on the back of her head but slightly to the left. She had a cigarette hanging loosely from one hand and her lips were big and full. He reached into his pocket and felt around for the thing he knew he'd hate himself for. Her eyes zeroed in on the little white bag as soon as it entered her vision.

He closed his fist around it with a smirk, "I just need a name."

She sighed and looked away. "Scott, Mc-something. I don't know if he's who you're looking for but Jackson was, for months he looked for him."

She reached for his fist but Stiles drew it back quickly, "c'mon Holly, you can do better than that."

She scoffed and slipped her tongue out to wet her lip. She was about to cave, it was written all over her face. One, two and...

"Jackson said he tracked him to a bar in New York City. I think it was called Deaton's? Yeah. He went to NYC and we didn't hear from him until he was on the news last week. The fucking bitch killed him. I hope she rots in that cell, painfully."

He bit the inside of his cheek and released the packet into her hands. He'd made sure the amount was enough to pique her interest, but not enough to be fatal. Luckily it had worked.

Deep cover meant he had no contact with his partner or his colleagues. He had to figure this out on his own. The Internet was pretty much his only resource but it was enough to track down the dive bar Holly spoke about. There were three 'Deaton's bars' in the world. One in Japan, one in California and one in NYC. It wasn't hard to figure out.

XxxxX

The strong smell of marijuana was heavy in the room. A sickly sweet scent he wasn't as accustomed to as he maybe should be for this. He planted himself in a barstool up front. There weren't many people in, 3 heavily intoxicated and 5 slightly buzzed. One as high as a kite, but he ignored that.

He lent on the bar only to feel a stickiness and pull his hands away in disgust. What the hell had people spilt on this? Did they not clean the surfaces? Then again they were allowing people to smoke pot so who knows.

"You're not from around here, huh?" A deep voice addressed him from behind the bar. Stiles looked up to see the tanned man, probably in his forties laughing silently.

"No, not really." He wiped his hands on his jeans and noticed gum stuck to the wood.

"You just wanted make a pit stop or something?" Stiles ran his hands through his hair and took a glance around. No one was close, he doubted they were listening anyway.

"I'm looking for Scott."

"Scott..." The bartender bent down and picked up a beer from the fridge.

"Mc...um, crap." Stiles bit on his thumb in pretend concentration.

"I think I know who you're talking about. He's in the back, can I take a name?"

"Yeah, Stiles. He won't recognise it." The man nodded slowly before disappearing behind a door, leaving the beer in front of Stiles. He knew it was bad to drink on the job but he needed something to settle his nerves. He tipped it back and re-surveyed the room. There was a back door to his left and the toilets further round in that direction. This was always important in times like these.

After a few more minutes a young tanned boy emerged from the wooden doors. He was young, likely the same age as Stiles. He seemed pretty psyched to have a visitor and not at all annoyed or threatening looking.

"Hey dude, your Stiles right?" He hesitated over the word, trying it out for the first time.

"Yeah, you're Scott?" The conversation felt rigid, like a business conversation between two lawyers.

"You requested my presence." He could hear the irony in Scotts voice and laughed. This guy was alright.

"I need to talk about some business, can we go somewhere more private?" Scott looked him up and down intensely, like he was sizing him up for a fight.

"...OK." After a moment or two of awkward silence he agreed and Stiles followed him through the mysterious bar doors.

There was a narrow corridor that went along some stairs, at the bottom were two wooden doors both with locks. He was expecting to go upstairs or possibly into one of the rooms. But no. Scott stopped at the foot of the stairs and spun on his heel to look Stiles in the eye. He was a little startled at the sudden movement but managed to conceal it quickly.

"You wanna buy something?" Scott tilted his head curiously.

"Not exactly." Stiles let his eyes slip from Scotts to the door next to him.

"So what do you want?" He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"More like who." Scott raised his eyebrows again. "You're boss, the redhead."

Scotts eyes narrowed instantly before he caught himself and visibly relaxed. It was only a split second but Stiles caught it. It was the hair reference. Risk and reward, right. "I don't know who you're referring to, do you have a name."

Stiles but his lip and looked away again. He knew that Scott knew he didn't know the person he was looking for, just knew of her, but he wouldn't let Scott use that. "Copper Rose? I believe that's what the kids are calling her these days."

Scott sighed and looked at his shoes then back up at Stiles. There was a finality in his voice when he spoke, "I don't know who you're talking about, and I'm gonna ask you to leave now."

Stiles almost took a step back, almost. "I just wanna talk to her, you can kill me after if you think I'm a threat." He sounded desperate now. Scott was his only lead if this fell through he'd have to return to the precinct empty handed and the worst undercover cop they ever had.

"Get out of my bar." Scott enthused each word carefully.

"Please I ne-"

"Last chance."

Stiles saw the look of impatience in his eyes. He pursed his lips, him mum always did that when she had to admit defeat in a fight with his dad. He wasn't getting through to Scott. He started backing away quickly, "I'm gonna be back." He called when he was a good metre away. "I'm gonna keep coming back till you hear me out OK." He wanted to say more but he could've sworn he heard Scott growl.

XxxxX

Stiles shut the apartment door behind him. The car drive was tiring and coming back to an apartment he refused to think of as home was no kind of relief. Today hadn't been what he hoped. He didn't expect Scott to offer him a ride to her house or anything, but he expected something. A phone number, a person, a place. Anything that he could hold onto. He had every intention of driving back down again tomorrow and asking the exact same thing of Scott again. Maybe he could wear him down until he gave up.

Stiles approached his pin board solemnly. He set up the mystery boss at the top with a question mark. He used red string to join her to four other question marks below. Off of those 4 were two more red strings. These ones actually had names attached though. Erica was one and Scott another. He'd also connected Jackson to both of them and Holly to him. He'd hoped to have something else to add but this Scott may turn out to be a lost cause. Maybe he could use Erica. Find someone through her.

He would stay up to figure it out but he'd be getting nowhere. He had nothing to go on. So instead after a quick wash up he got a couple hours sleep.

XxxxX

Stiles was dreaming about his mum when a loud banging pulled him from his peace. Instinctively he reached under his pillow and pulled out his handgun. Being slightly unsure he tucked it into his waistband of the jeans he hadn't been bothered enough to change out of. Stiles approached the door slowly and pressed his face up to see who it was.

Scott.

Scott?

What the fuck? He moved his hand from his gun and quickly unlocked the door to let him in. He was slightly flustered and not really thinking about the fact that he last saw him was when he told him he refused to leave him alone until he was taken to his boss. Maybe Scott was here to kill him. Shit.

Stiles felt his hands clamming up and pretended to smooth down his bed worn t-shirt. Scott hadn't spoken a word, instead he strolled in and began wandering around his living room.

"Um, hi." Stiles tried, feeling incredibly out of place despite this being his territory. Scott was the intruder, not him.

The Latino (?) boy jumped the tiniest bit. Like he just forgot for a sec that Stiles was there. Stiles frowned at him for a moment before Scott noticed his board and he suddenly felt a whole new kind of nervous. The kind of nervous that brought his hand to rest on his gun lightly. "You've got quite the investigation here." Stiles swallowed. Did he sound...impressed?

He followed Scott's hand as it trailed over the two red strings from the top question mark, all the way down to his name.

"It's all just theorised." Stiles moved his hand back to his side.

"You think I'm two strings away?" Scott spoke with laughter on his tongue.

"Are there more?" He took an involuntary step towards the tanned boy. The desperation he felt seeped into his voice.

"Oh, you have no idea, Stiles." He felt taken aback at the name reference. Even more at his words. Perhaps the girl was more than she seemed. Maybe she didn't exist. Perhaps she wasn't a rose but a rose bush. More than one person working collectively. Stiles started feeling incredibly small in that moment. "Stiles? That's right isn't it?" Scott turned to face him again.

"Yeah..." The boy swallowed again.

"Stiles..."

"Billinski." Stiles finished for him.

"Stiles Billinski, you were born in California, went to public school, dropped out of high school, skipped college moved away from your family to New York, and then puff. You disappeared." Scott pointed at him accusingly.

"And yet here I am." Scott gave him a look which Stiles though seemed a lot like respect.

"You won't be here for long." Scott folded his hands behind his back like he'd rehearsed this a hundred times.

"What are you talking about?" Stiles felt his nerves doubling and his gun was burning a hole in is back.

"In about an hour, a car will pull up outside your house, you're going to get in it and do whatever he tells you to do, OK. It's gonna be a while so you don't wanna get on his bad side. That's a little tip from me." Scott winked as he headed for the door.

"Wait, what am I-?

"Just bring enough for a week, you'll be fine. I promise." Stiles sighed loudly as Scott opened the door and headed out.

He fucking hated undercover.

XxxxX

Exactly an hour later Stiles heard the rumblings of a car parking. Sure enough a black Chevrolet was pulled up outside his home. He glanced at the half assed duffel bag that probably didn't have his phone charger or his passport. Something wouldn't be there. He looked back at the car outside and headed down.

"You? You were in the bar?" Stiles pointed to the man in the drivers seat excitedly.

"Your very observant Stiles." The man's tone was just as rich as before. He climbed in, all legs and arms, and threw his bag into the backseats. Once the door was shut behind him the car started and they pulled out. "Now, I'm going to give you some tips for a healthy journey where no one ends up with a black eye, OK. My name is Chris, that's all you need to know. Right now we're driving into the city to see someone I'm told you really want to meet, you should take this time to prepare yourself. I hate small talk and when I get annoyed I get violent. And I love silence."

Stiles opened his mouth to reply, but decided against it and gave a firm nod instead. This was going to be a long car journey.

XxxxX

"Stiles." He was greeted by Scott as the car rolled to a stop. It was in an underground parking complex, and even though Stiles had never been this far east in the city before, he was pretty sure he could find it again.

"You gonna blindfold me now?" He took a long look around. The ceiling was high and there was nothing but flat concrete. No cars were parked here, which meant he was probably on private property. Scott seemed fairly casual in his cargo pants and tee. It was unnerving that nobody appeared to think it was as big of a deal as Stiles thought it was. If he met her, that meant he'd either take her down or she would him. There was no way she'd ever let him out alive and there was no way Stiles would ever let her get away from him, not when he was this close. She'd have to kill him.

"Nah, it'll be fine." Scott wafted his hand in mid air. "Follow me." Stiles gave one last look to the Chevrolet. Of course the car journey with Chris was easy, he didn't have to say a single word. This was different.

He trailed after Scott into a small white room with an elevator. He felt out of place on the tiles as Scott used his fingerprint to open the doors. Stiles felt his senses heightening, every nerve ending in his body was on high alert.

"Smile for the camera." Scott pointed to a small white lump in the wall. Now he saw it, there was a plastic semi sphere. He looked up at it for a while before coming to the conclusion someone was probably looking back. Mildly embarrassed, he drew his eyes away and followed Scott into the metal box. The boy watched the brunette type in four buttons on the keypad 0452. He had to remember that. They began moving up. He didn't know what floor they'd be coming to but Stiles suspected the top one. "I'm gonna warn you now, 'cause I'm a nice guy." Stiles' muscles tensed up and he quickly realised his gun was in his duffel which was in the car. "You might wanna prepare yourself. I wish someone would've told me that before I met her."

Stiles' gulp literally echoed round the elevator. Scott chuckled without an inch of shame. "I don't even know her name."

"Her name? It's Lydia."

XxxxX

 **So, I have so many ideas for this story and have pretty much planned out completely what's gonna happen. I'm way too excited for it which means I'm feeling pretty impatient and really wanna get into the plot. I love when writing things making the story really intricate and putting in lots of hints as to what will happen, and I love making it super unpredictable but realistic at the same time - so that's really what I'm going with for this story. There's gonna be quite a lot of mystery so please feel free to make predictions or whatever, I'd love to see what people are thinking. Thank youuuu for reading so far tho, comment and vote. Mwah ?**


	3. nice to meet you?

_"I've got the lines, I've got the lines,_

 _It's brighter this time,_

 _This type of mine this disguise,_

 _Oh you talk, oh, to me."_

It was 10:56 on a Thursday and Lydia had yet to get dressed. Her Chanel shift dress with the loop hole straps just didn't compare to Victoria Secret sweatpants. The smell of coffee was what drew her out on the only day a week without the early morning start. Lydia felt a tingling on the tip of her fingertips as she shuffled through the corridor. No one was supposed to be here. She took a moment to check her appearance in the metre square encrusted mirror above the hall table. What kind of robbers made coffee anyway? Her hair was tangled and tumbling down her back, a mess of red curls, and her face was void of any heavy foundations or clumpy mascaras. The purple pedicure she got last weekend was still covered in fluffy socks that lacked grip on the tiled floor.

When the girl stood in the doorway to her kitchen, she took a moment to analyse the scene in front of her. Allison was fussing around in the kitchen trying to get her $300 coffee machine to work - it was more for its look than efficiency. She was dressed in a bright red strapless dress. It was tight, but with Alison's body she could pull it off.

"You should be at work, no?" Lydia opened the fridge rather aggressively and began rooting around for snacks.

"Yes, but you were taking your time getting up." The brunette dug around in her shoulder bag until her hand reappeared with a silver flask.

"Do you come here just to steal my coffee?"

"Yes and no. I am stealing your coffee, but that's not the only reason."

"Look who decided to show her face!" The curly mop of a six foot tall boy was the first thing Lydia saw as Isaac appeared from the toilet.

"I gave you those keys for emergencies, what are you doing here?" The poor girl was too tired for morning guests.

"We came to see your beautiful morning look. I see you went for high school musical reject this morning."

"Are you kidding? HSM would be blessed to have me." Lydia pulled out her favourite mug with the whinnie the poo hand painting on and poured out the rest of the coffee Allison had prepared.

"Pulling the conversation back to why we're actually here." This earned Allison finger guns from Isaac. "Scotts bringing someone in from Chicago today. Says the guys really wants to meet with you."

"Chicago? Why, who is he?" Lydia frowned into her cup. It was a rare occurrence to meet new people, but more often than not it was Scott who brought them in.

"I don't know, but you might wanna put some clothes on they should be here any minute."

"Oh for gods sake. Thank you for telling me, now. Instead of, y'know waking me up or whatever."

"I, personally, think you should stay like that. Gives the impression that you don't give a shit."

Allison shrugged at exactly the same time the all too familiar buzzing sounded. The kitchen screen switched on showing a washed up image of two boys stood in the elevator. The one she recognised, Scott, was stood slouching slightly with his hands clasped together. He looked patient, expectant. The unfamiliar boy looked more rigid. He kept fidgeting with his hands: taking them out of his pockets, tugging on his hair, rubbing the back of his neck. He was nervous, extremely so.

"Should...I let them in?" Isaac interrupted her thought process with uncertainty.

The girl gave herself a quick once over. She looked like a gangster from the ghetto, but fuck it. "Yeah." She nodded at the dirty blonde and he disappeared in the direction of the elevator.

"I'm gonna get going, don't want anyone thinking I get special treatment." Allison gave her a quick reassuring hug before leaving the same way Isaac did. Once the girl was left alone she took a few calming breaths. She'd always get nervous before these kind of things, that was something that would never change. Lydia was always careful about who found out her real identity. There would be numerous background checks her employees did before they brought a newbie in, and if anyone turned out to be playing for the other team, they wouldn't get within a kilometre near her.

Isaac was the first to make his way in. He looked professional, stoic. The boy chose to be like this with every first introduction. He loved getting the upper hand, intimidation was his way of imprinting fear into their brains - for future use. Behind him a brunette boy trailed with his feet skimming the floor every step. That annoyed Lydia beyond reason. Those sounds of rubber soles rubbing her clean, white tiles - but only just - went right through her. She withheld a scoff in exchange for rolling her eyes. The boy didn't even notice. His caramel coloured eyes were instead focused directly on the metre by 2 metres squared photos of African wildlife. Lydia had never been to Africa but a photographer called Lin Mandolin had. He gave them to her for her first birthday at the magazine. She was beyond shocked for the gift; until a week later he sent her a bill of $160,000. After an aggressive phone call the bill was reduced to $50,000. She still referred to it as a loss.

The girl sighed loudly to get his attention. His head moved as fast as a gazelle when it hears a lion on one of those animal documentaries. His gaze locked on to hers for a second or so before it wandered over her form. He wasn't looking at her like some of the other men in her life did. The way they'd stare at her body as if it was laid out just for them. No, the boy looked at her like a little girl looks at a princess in their romantic fairytales. It sent tingles down her back as he took his liberties to check her out. Surprise riddled his little brain, and she noticed how his lips twitched slightly as he thought. It was cute, how she was so unexpected to him. As much as Lydia enjoyed the appreciation, it was just gone 8 and she deserved sleep.

"Please tell me this is worth getting out of bed for." Lydia moaned and lifted her mug to her lips. The brunette swallowed and began looking around her apartment again. Looking at everything but her.

"Uhh, yeah." Scott appeared from behind the doorway and stood next to the mystery boy. "He came into my bar asking about you. Says he wants a job." Scott shrugged, indifference written all over him. Lydia felt annoyance in her bones. Does Scott know how many people would want to work for her, how many people come knocking around for a pay check? She was careful with who she hired. They had to be smart, loyal, trustworthy, and most of all, relevant. She would never hire any old John off the street. Did he have any idea what introducing him to her did? He would either have to die or work. She could never leave someone she didn't know bitter and with an image of who she was.

Lydia wet her lips with her tongue, she saw Isaac prepare himself. "And you bring him here?" Her tone was eerily calm.

Scott swallowed and spared a glance to his mistake with a look of reverence. "His name is Stiles. He was insistent."

"What the hell is a Stiles?" In a display of anger the girl through the mug into the sink. They all heard the shattering sound and jumped slightly. Some more than others. She wanted to cry, that was her favourite mug.

'Stiles' pressed his lips together and looked to the ground. Surely, the least he could do was look her in the eye.

"Well? What do you want?" She tilted her head to try and catch his gaze. It wasn't hard, as soon as his head came up his eyes were fixed on hers. They were wide and alert after being addressed.

"I... A job?" He shrugged stiffly.

"A job? What exactly do you think you can do for me?" Lydia spoke slowly and angrily, like when she scolded a child.

"Business. My guess is you have muscles," he gestured to the two boys next to him, "and like a lawyer." She frowned at him. "But you don't have someone like me. Someone who knows this business better than anyone. I can help you, make the right moves, meet the right people, and stop the right people."

"So, what you're saying is... You want to be my advisor?" Despite the fact he was right in the whole not having one before thing, it seemed unnecessary.

"I guess you could call it that. I know you've been in this business for a long time, and I mean no disrespect to your current employees, but you could really use some informed advice." She saw Isaac turn his face in disgruntlement. He didn't like the idea of not being enough.

Lydia opened her mouth to say go fuck yourself but she recognised something in his eyes that made her hesitate. It was that look she gave Deucalion when he glared at her after reading the bank statement she'd handed him claiming he was bankrupt. It was the look boyfriends gave any man that came near her. It was the look she gave Jackson right after he stormed out and went right home to Erica. _I dare you_. That look.

"OK." She blinked at herself for a moment, surprised the words had slipped out without her meaning for them to.

All three boys looked temporarily startled. Scott ran a hand over his face while Isaac just stared at the boy who had just been accepted into their little fold. There were a few moments of silence while everyone processed the abrupt decision.

"Well, if that's all. Boys, I trust you'll show him the ropes, wire funds into an account, etc etc. I'm going back to bed." She felt good walking away from them with an extra swing in her hips.

XxxxX

Stiles watched the girl as she walked away. Lydia. Copper Rose. Lydia... _Something_. At least he was half right about the hair. She didn't have red hair, no, her hair was strawberry blonde. Natural and kinda beautiful. It reminded him of fire. And it wasn't just the hair that was cause for that association. The girl was like a fucking firecracker. Isaac and Scott weren't as obvious about it before but standing next to them, he could feel it - fear. She didn't come across as harmless and no one was dumb enough to think she was.

"Well then, let's go newbie."

Everything seemed to happen in a blur, following the two boys around like a confused puppy, being handed papers and guns and keys. They took him to an apartment in the city. It was simple, kind of empty with only basic furniture; Sofa, TV, dining table, bed etc.

"Don't get too attached you won't be here long."

"I won't?"

"This is only until we find you somewhere more permanent. You have any preferences?"

"Good takeaways I guess. Nearby so I don't have to walk far." He shrugged casually.

After the apartment information was sorted out Scott and Isaac took him to a warehouse downtown. It was big and had an elevated area at the far end. He climbed the stairs behind both of the two boys to find what appeared to be like a game shack. There were beanbags set up in front of a flat screen and a games console set up with controllers tangled together in a heap on top. There was also a foosball table and a normal sitting down table. It looked like a youth club up in here.

"This is like our mutual area, the gold key on the chain I gave you will let you in. We all basically hang out in here: me, Isaac, Boyd, Cora, Kira, Malia, Liam, you'll meet them all eventually. Allison comes too sometimes, but she's not really like us, gangster y'know. She's classy and shit." There was so much pride in his voice as he spoke of this Allison. "Erica and Jackson used to come here too." He picked up a salt shaker from the table and played with it. Like that small item held so many memories.

"You cared about them?" Stiles chanced his luck with the query.

"I care about all of them." He gently placed the shaker back where it was.

The atmosphere was interrupted when Isaac reappeared with a bag in his hand. He dumped it heavily onto the same table Scott had been looking at so tenderly before. "We got your burner phone - this'll be replaced every month." Stiles had to blink at the next thing he pulled out. "This is your carry on; beretta BU9 nano. You get a glock G20, 10mm caliber - be careful of the recoil on that one, people always think it's weaker than it is. And finally, another beretta, the px4. This one, I think, is pretty baddass." It was black with gold detail across the top. Stiles took the gun from Isaac and had a feel for it himself. It felt better than his police warranted gun with the worn down handle and plastic in the most awkward places. The only way he could think to describe it was to compare a wicker chair with one of those leather massage chairs in the mall.

He gave Isaac the gun back who put it to the side in order to continue. The next item was profoundly more dangerous than the guns. White paper filled with numbers and spreadsheets and signature boxes were placed in front of him.

"These are for an account in your name, funds will be pumped into this account and this one only. Numbers will depend on how much product is moved each month, we usually get around $20,000 a week, on average. You sign these papers and we'll get you a card by the end of the week."

"OK" The boy did as he was told, signing the papers with the uncomfortable signature he'd had to learn before going undercover. They took the papers away and before he could blink the world had slowed down. He was in his new apartment with a bunch of keys in one hand and his duffel bag in the other. There were guns in his draws and soon a card that would give him more money than he had ever earned would join them. His home now had a permanent 'temporary' sign hanging over the top. Everything he wasn't letting grow on him (the fire escape he could climb through his window and sit on, the Indian takeout across the street) was at risk of being taken from him in a matter of seconds. He felt like he was stood on a rug, with a constant fist enclosed around it, ready to just pull it from beneath his feet. There were noises outside his door and beeping horns from beyond his window, yet Stiles felt it had never been this quiet since the evening in his house after his mothers wake. Today had been like free falling, quick and endless. Now it felt like hitting the ground.

He didn't put his bag down. He dropped it. He didn't choose not to eat dinner. He couldn't. And the tired kid didn't climb into to bed. He all out collapsed.

XxxxX

The next morning was cold, Friday's were supposed to be one of the best days of the week. The weekend was nearly here, and the day was much easier. Stiles forgot the novelty of it after he became a cop. Weekends were irrelevant when you were working for your country. Even criminals work on the sabbath these days. He checked his phone and read 9:09. Stiles nearly just went back to sleep, now his job seemed to consist of waiting for a phone call he didn't have much to do, when his phone vibrated with a message.

 _Scott - 9:09_

 _Meet at the warehouse 10:00._

Stiles re read the message. He assumed these contacts had been added into his burner cell before they'd given it him. It was around a half hour journey to the warehouse which meant if he got up now he could have a long-ish shower before he left. At 9:37 Stiles scaled the stairs with wet tendrils of hair falling in his face and a pair of sneakers tucked under his arm. He now regretted making the choice to sleep in a little longer. The cab he called for was parked outside his complex, the man inside chewing on some gum and reading a magazine. He got in the car and told the driver he'd direct him to his destination. Stiles wasn't dumb enough to ask the guy to drop him off outside an abandoned warehouse, instead he got out at an industrial park a few miles from the Scooby-Do shack. He had about 3 minutes to walk there if he wanted to be on time - Stiles didn't even try. His burner cell and keys were tucked safely into his jacket pocket and his sneakers were now safely tied onto his shoes. The cab driver had given him a knowing look upon seeing the red shoes in his armpit. Stiles, surprisingly, didn't feel any overwhelming nerves as he walked across the Tarmac. Scott and Isaac had been cool with him (well Isaac took his time to warm up to him) and Stiles could find no reason as to why any of the others would have a problem with him. Scott had stated quite clearly there would be a meeting between the newbie and the crew, he was pretty sure this was what was happening. According to the files in his precinct, he was about to spend his day with cold blooded assassins and drug dealers, but Stiles couldn't think of it like that. They were people, people who he needed to believe him when he said his intentions were pure. Well, as pure as they could be in the industry of drug trafficking.

It was 10:18 when he unlocked the door to the warehouse. It was deathly silent, the only sounds were his shoes when they slapped the concrete. The boy reached the old wooden stairs that would surely be a health hazard and climbed them cautiously. He pictured many things when entering the room but what he saw was none of them.

The two beanbags furthest away from the entrance were now occupied by Scott and a girl, both were playing a video game quite enthusiastically. The brunette girl was alternating between pointing her finger at the screen in annoyance and pushing buttons on the controller harder than she needed to, while Scott was inching closer to the television set every few seconds. Another girl, Asian, with jet black hair was seated at the table with a laptop and earphones plugged in. Her eyes were glued to the screen and her fingers were playing gently with the straw in her cup. Then there was a younger boy sat opposite her, he must be barely 20. his hand was moving over a phone screen and his feet were on the table. He was the only person in the room to spare him a glance.

"Hey! You must be Stiles." The boy put his phone face down on the table and swung his legs to the ground. He was shorter than Stiles expected when he stood up.

Scott and the girl paused their game and the Asian girl pulled out her earphones. The feeling of them all watching him awakened the nerves he was surprised had been dormant for so long. Scott made his way over with the brunette looking over his shoulder.

"Hey dude. Figured if you were just gonna sit at home alone, you might as well come see the peeps." all pairs of eyes were still fixed on him. Stiles tried not to fidget on his feet but all ten toes were insistent on movement. He gave an awkward wave to the occupants of the room before stuffing his hands into his pockets to avoid anyone noticing the tremble there. Scott pointed to all three people in the room "Malia, Kira, and that's Liam." Stiles was good at remembering details, so their names weren't his main concern. Instead, the thing he was worried about were the dubious and jaundiced looks they were giving him.

The silence stretched awkwardly as Stiles was too nervous to speak and everyone else was waiting pointlessly for him. Stiles could've kissed Malia when she held the controller towards him, "wanna play?"

XxxxX

"Yes, yes, yes. Go there, quick." Stiles thumb was surely going to be sprained by the end of the hour. Him and Scott had decided to work as a team in the next round after Stiles had won the last 3.

"We got him." The darker boy held up his palm for his team player to high five in victory. He could've sworn Scott got up to dance until he was cut off by a blink-182 song blaring from his pocket. He pulled the phone out and smiled at the screen, "boss wants to speak to me." He showed the phone to Stiles who was none the wiser to if that was Lydia or someone else. " _Yellow_...name it..." Scott frowned into the phone, which put Stiles completely on edge "uhh, yeah he's right here...OK." He shut the phone off and looked hesitantly towards the boy. "Lydia wants to see you, we gotta go."

The only words that crossed Stiles' mind were ones he would never repeat aloud.

 **XxxxX**

 **I feel like this chapter was kind of rushed but oh well, I hope you enjoyed it. Plz Follow and favourite Mwah ?**


	4. the bloodier the better

_"Things cannot be reversed,_

 _We learn from the times that we are cursed,_

 _That things cannot be reversed,_

 _Learn from the ones we fear the worst,_

 _And learn from the ones we hate the most."_

Stiles' knee was bouncing faster than a 5 year old on a space hopper. His nerves had officially hit the top scale and he had seriously considered performing a tuck and roll out the car just to avoid that awful feeling in his gut. Scott had been driving for about 7 and a half minutes to an undisclosed location. All Stiles knew was that he was about to meet Cop- Lydia for the second time in two days. The first time she'd been a little shy of annoyed. Hopefully, the mood would be much more relaxed this time. The boy could still picture her clearly in his head. Her hair; strawberry-blonde and long. Her eyes; green and full of something a lot like flames. Her form; small and delicate. She'd held herself with a type of dignity that could only come from years of power, her aura was nothing that could be gained after a successful game of monopoly. What Lydia was like was nothing you see in a person often. She was strong, fearless and smart. It was funny how much you could learn about someone from one meeting.

The SUV turned into an alleyway that brought images of shady back deals to the front of his mind. The thought didn't disappear when the car stopped next to a brick building with a green sign over the top. "Druids Feast" Stiles didn't know he'd read that out loud until Scott replied with a hum.

The door was old and wooden, chipping off at the bottom with splinters everywhere. You could tell it used to be nicely painted the same green as the sign, but that must've been many years ago. Scott stayed in the vehicle as he approached the entrance. The glass covering most of the door was blocked out by dusty beige blinds, there was no way in hell this was a real establishment.

Stiles threw a look over his shoulder to the boy who was quickly becoming a frie- ally, he gave what he probably thought was a reassuring thumbs up. With an unintentionally deep breath the brunette pushed through the door. It was lighter than he expected and he quickly realised he had exerted much too much force. The door swung open heavily and he literally fell into the room. On reflex, his arms braced themselves in front of him as if there was something to catch himself on. Maybe a few years ago he would've fallen flat on his face, but this time his balance kept his cheeks only slightly reddened.

The door swung shut behind him with a loud squeak and by now all eyes were 100% on him. Taking a look around, turned out there weren't many pairs of eyes at all. The building was clearly some kind of restaurant, if the smell was anything to go by, a steakhouse. Old tables and chairs, all made from a dark wood littered the small apace with practically zero organisation. He looked to his right first and saw a small rectangular hole in the wall, a black, older man was stood there. He had a particularly long knife in one hand, and a sharpening tool in the other. His position with them both in mid air suggested he had been interrupted in his satire practice. Stiles held his curious expression for a moment before the mans eyes slipped to something behind him.

Stiles turned on the spot, and despite the lack of proper lighting, it was hard to miss the bright strands of strawberry-blonde tucked into the booth furthest away.

Her expression was one of nonchalance as she stared right at him, unabashed. He took an audible gulp before making his way over to the table. The boy felt that unmistakable feeling of shame as he approached the petite girl who was anything but small. He felt 13 again visiting the head mistress' office.

She raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow and gestured towards the chair opposite her. He mentally noted how she always chose gestures over words and sat down. The chair was as uneasy as Stiles' mental stability which didn't help his anxiety.

"Can I get either of you two anything?" A low voice called from behind him.

"Just my usual, Deaton. You hungry?" It took him a moment of opening and closing his mouth before his mind formulated a response.

"No, I'm good." She gave him a courteous nod. "Is there a-a reason I'm here?" Stiles tried to sound sure of himself, however, she had an unwavering intenseness about her that he was not accustomed to. The people he called his friends were carefree, they'd laugh and make jokes, slouch in their chairs, smile. She wasn't like the people you start up conversations with on a flight.

"Yes, I thought that if you were going to be my advisor we should get to know one another. You can't help someone you don't know." Everything she said was spoken with clarity, as if she'd rehearsed it a million times.

"Sounds great. What...do you want to know?"

She sighed at him and looked away. "What brings you here, Stiles?"

"Money?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?" She smiled round a glass of wine he was sure was only there to intimidate him.

"You sound like my third grade English teacher." The weak attempt at a joke was mildly pathetic, yet a sweet noise made its way past her lips, somewhere between a huff and laugh. A small part of him felt the tiniest bit more relaxed. Humour was always like a reflex to him, when awkwardness seeped into a room, always pin it on Stiles to tell the 'hilarious' story of losing his virginity in the back of his old jeep.

"I'm assuming she has an advanced degree so I'll take that as a compliment."

"What about you? How did you get into this business?" In his head he knew this was standard undercover work, getting information was what he was there for, but a big part of him really wanted to know. Lydia was intriguing in the same way that a hot plate was when the waiter told you not to touch it.

"That's a...long story." She concluded.

"I thought you said we should get to know one another" he challenged her with a smirk.

Her fingers moved over the wine glass stem. "I was um...18... I think. When I started I mean." She glanced up at him from the table and saw as he nodded encouragingly. This piece of information, as small as it was, was like a crack in the door as it slowly fell open.

"I had this boyfriend in high school, typical rich boy: had everything handed to him, didn't get hugged enough as a kid, dumber than a bag of rice, yada yada yada. But he was nice and sweet. He made me laugh, held my hand, I thought that was all you needed in a relationship - as long as it looked good, it was good. It didn't matter that he would smoke in my bedroom even after I told him not to, and blame me when I got grounded for it. Or when he'd 'forget' dates because he was higher than Mount Everest, but he said sorry after, so, what more could I want? Anyway, junior year, he decides he wants to take up drug dealing, he thought it would be fun, y'know. Make him tough and shit. I was so attached to this dumb relationship that at the time I was like so... It was all I had. Growing up, I didn't have friends or people. I had acquaintances and a boyfriend, that was it. I just- I didn't know...I-." The girls words became trapped behind her red lips - explaining why you were OK with your boyfriend making and selling illegal drugs that could quite possibly leave someone's daughter dead in an alleyway was not something you could get used to. Stiles was hesitantly silent. Questions were adding up in his head like stones in a boot but he held back. The door was falling open without needing him to push.

"He started making crystal methamphetamine with some guy he met, I never asked how. And money started rolling in, I mean he's buying me jewellery every month, going to expensive restaurants, it was fun, so I didn't mind when a girl in his bio class was sent to rehab. Then this one time I went round to his house for a movie but he said he had to cook instead. I was just gonna leave him to it but...lets just say I was curious. He was working in this basement of his friends house, it was dirty, messy, the smell was just..." She scrunched her nose up at the thought, making circular motions with her wrist. "I looked at his equipment, he was using a volumetric flask to cook with. Terrible idea. They're used for titration and general mixing, you shouldn't apply heat to them. That's what a boiling flask is for. He thought I was being overbearing when I told him that. Even more so when I told him he needed to clean all his equipment if he wanted a high yield. Idiot didn't know what a yield was, he kept calling it all 'art'." Stiles noticed the small shake of her head. "He was getting like a 30% yield, less with all the chilli powder he kept putting in. The shit he was cooking was...well...shit. I told him if he wanted good product it had to be chemically pure and stable. He pretty much laughed at me. So I showed him. I stole a load of equipment from school, walked right out the door with it and no one said a thing - I was kind of a science nerd so no one was really suspicious. It took me one afternoon, 99.1%. He couldn't believe it at first, then he kept calling me an artist, said I was a freaking genius. It was basic chemistry. He sold it for a few grand, gave me a bracelet from Tiffany's for it. I agreed to do more as long as he kept everything safe. We even got an eye wash station. He started giving me shares of what we made, a few hundred pounds, I never questioned it. Then he started getting cocky, he'd bring friends round to watch, offered to double the product for more money. I could hardly keep up. Eventually I insisted we use phenylacetone in a tube furnace, then we could skip the difficulty of obtaining pseudoephedrine. That's what gives it the blue colour."

"Sky blue." Stiles spoke with a mild numbness. He was quietly processing.

"That's what the kids are calling it." She swallowed heavily before continuing. "We started doing business with this big guy - he was called Gerard, he could move product on a global level. He set us up in a lab under a factory, out where Scott took you. We were making meth on a massive scale. After a while though, Argent decided he didn't need my boyfriend anymore, he was too much of a liability. An idiot if we're being honest, too big for his own boots. So they...-"

"Killed him?" Her eyes flashed with something he couldn't place.

"Yeah. After that I realised it was too risky to keep working for them, so I took certain precautions, and with some help managed to take control. We took over his distribution scheme - by we I mean me and Allison Argent, she was his granddaughter - and used it to create our own system. Then I put Peter Hale on retainer, he helped us build everything back up, we hired people we could trust, used tight methods so no one would be suspicious. He also set me up with the magazine, showed me how I had to slowly build it up. Then Allison's dad started shipping product overseas as well as providing the lab with the phenylacetone. That was last year."

"Overseas?"

"Europe mostly, some in Africa."

"Oh." The boy couldn't focus on one thought. Questions were ablaze in his head, who was the boyfriend? What happened to Gerard? What's the magazine? Who are the Argents? The more he found out the more he wanted to know. This question mark he'd been trying his best to put a face to for years was now an open door. There wasn't much else to say yet he couldn't shake the feeling he still wanted more. More information, more detail, more answers.

"So yeah, that's my story." Her eyes remained following the swirly pattern her fingers traced on the table top.

He nodded solemnly.

"Here." The man - Deaton? - placed a bowl of Curley fries in front of her. The smell was strong and actually pretty incredible. "Anything else?"

"No, I'm good." Stiles watched the food in interest, only just realising he had one slice of toast this morning. "...do you want some?"

He only just realised he'd been staring and snapped up to meet her eyes. He hesitated with politeness but she pushed the dish forward suggestively. "Thanks." She smiled and picked one up with her thumb and fore finger.

"You didn't answer my question, y'know."

"What question?"

"Why you're here." She smirked and folded her arms on the table top. "You're good at deflecting. Unfortunately, I'm pretty good at conversations like these."

"Conversations like what?"

"Conversations with people keeping their cards close to their chest."

"Well illegality must mean you get that a lot."

"Oh my god, you did it again!" She lifted one hand into the air, making a gesture of exasperation. He laughed quietly trying not to focus on how adorable she looked when she called him out. Her elbow purchased on the table before she rested her chin on top. "C'mon Billinski. Spill." He looked up at her on the name. It was a bitter reminder that this wasn't actually real.

"Uhh, I went to public school in California, studied business. I dropped out toward the end. I-"

"Why?" He paused and met her gaze. She looked honest and not at all drug dealer like.

He had hoped to skip over this part as with it brought those awful pitiful looks and embarrassed blushes. "My mum died, it was a tumour. I got rebellious after that, wanted to go out and see the world."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. It wasn't pity in her eyes though, and her cheeks gained no extra colour. She seemed more thoughtful than anything else. A small crease appearing between her brows as she frowned at him. He continued nonetheless.

"Then this guy paid me to sell stuff so I could afford an apartment and food. Everything was done through cash to avoid a paper trail. After a while I got sick of it though, small time selling. So I heard about you and waited for my chance until I could find Scott who brought me here I guess."

"That's it?"

He frowned at her, attempting to look confused. "Well, yeah."

"Did you...ever have a girlfriend or something?" She wasn't embarrassed by the question and instead looked him in the eye, dead serious.

"Yeah, in high school."

"But none after?"

"Have you ever had a boyfriend?" He countered.

"Not for a while, no." He nodded, not really feeling like digging up that grave.

"Well then." He reached his hand behind his neck in discomfort. Silence settled between the two. Stiles was still processing everything in his head. She'd loaded a lot of personal information onto him and the boy was doing his best to make sense of it all. "Y'know I didn't really pin you for the steakhouse kinda girl." He spoke absentmindedly as his eyes scanned the signed photo of a man in a suit behind her.

"The bloodier the better." Lydia smirked at him and it sent chills down his back.

"OK."

The girl fidgeted in her seat looking from left to right and back again. "You said you studied business right? How was that."

"Shit." She rolled her eyes at his bluntness but in his defence it was as shit a question as it was an answer. "What about you? Did you have a major?"

"Biochemistry, and forensic science. I double majored."

A smile curved his lips, of course she double majored. He put a fry in his mouth casually, still not able to wipe the look from his face.

"What? What's that look for?" She was smiling too but with a hint of defensiveness in her tone.

"Well, I mean - isn't it kind of a cliché by now. The perfect rich girl turned badass bitch. I swear there's like a bajillion movies based off of it."

She laughed lightly while poking a fry between her lips. "Yeah, you're probably right. I can't remember the last time I watched a movie."

"Seriously? What's you're favourite?"

"I don't know, there's so many. What about you?"

"Star Wars, obviously." He wafted his hand in the air to emphasise his declaration.

"Never seen it." She tilted her head to the side prettily.

"I'm sorry, what?" He leaned forward as if he hadn't heard her right.

She laughed before repeating herself loudly.

"How can you have never seen Star Wars?" She sipped up the last bit of wine and shrugged again. "I swear to God one day I'm gonna fix that."

She smiled gently and Stiles felt the tiniest hint of butterflies that were absolutely not supposed to be there for this reason.

Definitely not for this.

"How d-" she was cut short by the sound of the door opening behind them. Stiles turned in his chair fast enough to get whiplash. A man in his late thirties stood in the doorway. He had short brown hair and a goatee. The navy blue coat he was wearing had a collar that went right up to his ear and Stiles wondered how he wasn't sweating his ass off right now. "Peter. I thought you weren't coming for a little while longer." He swivelled back to watch Lydia rise from her seat.

"Well, I believe we have business to take care of and there's no time like the present." His voice was low and smooth as he made his way over to them. Something about 'Peter' put Stiles immediately on edge.

"This is Stiles." She pointed towards him and took her seat again only now it was next to Peter in the red worn down booth.

"Stiles." He said the name experimentally, trying it out on his tongue. "You don't hear that often."

"It's a rare name." He held his hand out to take Peter's in a handshake. An attempt was made to hide his surprise at the strong grip the man had. Stiles didn't think it was successful.

"If you say so." The boy narrowed his eyes but kept his mouth shut. Lydia was biting her lip again, watching the boy anxiously. "I'm actually here to discuss business. I have your credit card to the account your funds will be wired into. I also have some files you'll need to keep with you in the safe."

"The safe?"

"In your apartment? There's one there, right? I informed the boys it was important you had one."

"Well I only moved in yesterday so..."

"OK, well there should be a safe in your apartment and that is where you should keep these." He pulled a brown envelope from his pocket with a pen. He had to sign the work about six times, but after, the envelope was passed to him along with a gold card reading American Express. "And for your next surprise..." He dug his hand around in his pocket for a minute before producing a set of keys. Stiles spotted the _Jeep_ branding on it immediately.

"A car?"

"Yep." Lydia answered for him chirpily.

"It's parked right outside." Stiles looked behind him as if he could see it through the boarded up windows. This should be like Christmas; money, a car, free food. Something about the whole circumstance felt too much like betrayal. It seemed like in this scenario he was the bad guy. Tricking them into giving away all this stuff. But no, this was all part of the plan, right? He was stopping the bad guys not becoming one.

"Thank you." Stiles hooked his hand around the cold metal and settled them on the table. He tried to smile in appreciation but he found his face making more of a wince.

"If that's all miss Martin?" He didn't wait for a dismissal - Peter didn't come across as a man who would wait for much - and hiked up his ear lobe reaching collar before making an exit.

The small restaurant fell quiet with Stiles and Lydia sat face to face and silent.

Lydia hesitated, tapping her fingers on the table top like he imagined important business women do when they're reading something equally as important. After a moment or two her hand disappeared under the table and she looked at him with resolve.

"Have you ever been to Mexico, Stiles?" Her face was the picture of indifference.

"Uhhhh..."

"Next week, on Monday. I'm going down with Scott and Allison to meet with some people, I think it would be a good idea if you came with us."

He looked at her with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Did he actually have a choice or...?

"It won't be long, 2 nights at the most, all expenses paid."

"Are you offering me a free holiday? I mean, we could at least go somewhere better, like the south of France, or Hawaii?"

"It's not a free holiday. Like I said, there are people I need to speak with, settle some...disagreements."

"Well that doesn't sound shady at all."

"I just need to talk with them, face to face." This was starting to sound more like the badass he'd been reading up on.

"Well how could I so no to face like that?" He mirrored her head tilt from earlier.

"I'm glad. I'll tell Scott everything you'll need to know. In the meantime..." She pulled out a pen and business card from her purse. "This is my number if you need anything, use the burner cell only." The boy leered over her pretentiously manicured hands and waited until all numbers were scribed neatly on the back of the white paper. "This isn't 24/7 by the way. Don't call before 11 or after 12, those are my resting periods." She tucked the pen back into her pocket and slipped out of the booth.

He wasted no time in scooping up the keys and files to follow her out the door. Everything was moving faster than he anticipated and the boy couldn't figure out if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

The strawberry blonde gave no signs of common courtesy by holding the door open, he wondered for a minute to whether she was like this with everyone or just him. There were two cars parked in the alleyway, one was an SUV - his SUV - black from the tyres to the windows. The other was a car closer to the ground, a Mercedes probably shipped in from another country, in a dark blue colour. The back door popped open as Lydia turned her back to it to face him. He saw the camel coloured leather and tried not to pass judgement. "I'll see you on Monday, yes?" Her phone pinged at the same time as her voice heightened in pitch with the question.

"Yeah, sure." A tall man climbed out of the car just over her shoulder. He had short red hair. Big arms. Straight face. Bodyguard, no doubt.

She followed his eyes and tilted her head so she could share his line of sight.

"You ready to go?" The question was spoken to her with an immense lack of flair. She didn't gratify him with anything more than a nod. Stiles didn't let it slip his notice that the man was shooting silent bullets in his direction. A look of that much protectiveness could only come from a severe lack of self esteem. Stiles didn't even know the man but he could smell trouble when it stunk that much.

"Bye, Stiles." She gave him a tight lipped smile before heading towards her own personal vehicle. The redhead carefully helped her in before shutting the door and joining her from the other side. Stiles waited patiently until the car was gone before he entered his new one. It was clean and new, it smelt like real leather and blueberries from the hanging fruit shaped paper in his windscreen. He took it down and stuffed it into the glove compartment. His mother hated those things too.

...

Once the boy had arrived 'home' in his new car - which he felt much more comfortable calling his own - he quickly found a Thai takeaway menu in a draw and ordered in the same food he always got from Mr Tsing who ran the Thai food restaurant in California.

With a takeaway box going cold next to him the boy spent about 45 minutes on his laptop before he found her.

Lydia Martin.

Her picture was all over the Internet. Once he'd found her for the first time, the floodgates were open. There were photo shoots all over google images, some of her, some done by her. He found one article about an interview she did when she first bought the magazine. She'd spoken to some news reporter he'd never heard of about her past.

 _"Creating the magazine is by far the best achievement of my life. I'd always wanted to make it in the fashion industry, but working hands on never really appealed to like it did to other people. Writing did though. Creating articles and forming ideas was like my dexterity. I enjoyed it so much. I never dreamed I would be creating my own magazine, it sometimes doesn't even feel real. I think the reason for my success had to be perseverance. Starting a whole new magazine in this industry is difficult and so many people told me I was crazy. I couldn't be more thankful they did, because without that pressure, without that constant threat of failure, I wouldn't have had hope to succeed. So thank you to all those people that told me 'don't do it' because you made it feel so much better when I did."_

The rest of the article spoke about her success, and how she could advise other people to create their own goals and meet them no matter how big. He couldn't help but feel a small sense of pride. A woman who had been hidden away for so long had actually given him a piece of herself today. A piece of herself that she apparently refused to share with the rest of the world. At about 2am he finally shut the lid down and crawled into bed.

His mind was still on a high from all the Lydia he got today - finally broken the habit of calling her Copper Rose - but his body was far from active. When the sleep finally settled through his bones, he slept wondering whether Mexico would be the downfall. Perhaps this whole time he'd been fooling himself. Meeting Scott, eating curly fries, getting a new car, maybe these was the steady waves before the storm took over. Maybe this was his brain fooling itself into thinking he was better than the cops who came before him, he had to be. 'Cause if he was wrong he doubted they'd let him say goodbye to his pops first.


	5. heading down south

"And I swore that I was safe from all the damage to be done, Heavy my eyes, total tongues, met early demise, hit and run, Driving, flying through these read lights, And all I see is headlights, And you gave me those red lights, those almost kinda dead lights, I'm driving into my fate, I'll make loving you my last mistake." ... Lydia always liked to think she was a good judge of character. From the get go she knew Allison was loyal, that the girl would stick with her through thick and thin. Sharing a vodka soda with Scott, she'd seen his fierce protectiveness over the people he cared for. When she spoke with Jackson, she could feel the determination in his gut to succeed. Yes, Lydia knew when people were worth her time. Except with Stiles. For a reason, unbeknownst to her, Lydia couldn't quite get a read on him. He came across immediately as someone who was very open - would talk for hours about anything he found interesting. However, as much as Lydia tried to dig, every hole she made was too small to crawl down. He was guarded, but so was Isaac when she first met him, it didn't concern her then. It's different. 'How?', that was the question gnawing at Lydia as her bedroom door clicked open. "Lyds, you nearly done?" Allison lent into the room with her hand resting lazily on the knob. The strawberry blonde looked over her shoulder towards her friend, "do you know where my louboutin's are?" "Err, which ones?" The girl dropped her left hip and frowned. "The beige ones, with cut out on the heel, and the lace-" her voice slipped away as the woman in her bedroom doorway began peering around the room still with that annoying frown. "Allison, did you take them?" Lydia dropped the floral skirt she had been examining into her bag and narrowed her eyes. "Take them? Where would I have taken them?" Lydia rolled her eyes pointedly. "You have an entire closet bigger than my childhood bedroom dedicated to shoes, can't you just find another pair?" The strawberry blonde sighed loudly before turning to fold her discarded skirt. "Fine." "Great. I'll see you in a minute." The door clicked shut behind her fleeting head and the room was left to its peaceful mumblings of gnash coming from speakers on her desk. Lydia's bag was almost half full, still with sanitaries and shoes to stuff in. It was the Sunday evening before the early morning flight and she had to speed pack before getting as much sleep as possible. Sleep was one of the things Lydia despised; it put even the strongest of individuals on their back. Her dad once told her a person is at their most vulnerable when they're asleep. After he passed away in a car accident she only ever properly rested when she felt safe. In her apartment when everything was locked up, a revolver under her pillow and a shotgun in her closet. Mexico in the middle of August was expected to be nothing shy of insufferable. Snowy mountains and fluffy sweaters were much more Lydia's speed. She had an abundance of winter boots and bobble hats just ready and waiting for the snow to hit like a prepubescent teen wanting to prove his strength against a padded glove. The heat, burning the ground into temperatures too hot for bare skin, was nothing Lydia ever hunted for. The strawberry blonde checked her phone, 3 missed calls and 8 texts, she ignored them all. 17 minutes later, the snakeskin suitcase with Versace embezzlement across the front was zipped up and packed. The trip was a single night away but Lydia was always prepared for the worst. Walking out into her front room, the girl was greeted by not one brunette but two. Two brunette heads just peeking over the back of her couch, talking with hushed words and subtle giggles. Allison, of course, was the first to sense another presence in the room and turned her head with a slight flick of her hair, her company was still watching her with interest. "Well look who packed her bag all on her own." Allison was obviously joking, and earned herself a harsh narrowing of the eyes, but only Lydia knew her well enough to pick up on the undertones of annoyance. Someone didn't want to be interrupted. "Hey Lydia." Scott finally turned to greet her, reaching his fist over the couch for her to pound. She didn't. The couch opposite the pair welcomed her butt with a humph, "what are you guys gossiping about?" Lydia tugged at the band in her hair until it came loose and the strands hung around her shoulders. When her question was met with silence the girl flicked her eyes up to study the two like an art piece with an ambiguous meaning. Scott was frowning at something just over her shoulder while his female counterpart was chewing on her thumb and looking at Lydia as if the redhead had more to say. She looked between them with curiosity, "y'know I didn't really care before, but now..." "We were just talking about the trip." Allison spoke too suddenly. "What about the trip?" A crease appeared between Lydia's eyebrows. "Just...nothing, it's fine." "I'm not letting this go." She'd always been this stubborn, ever since her dad promised her a pony on her 10th birthday and somehow 'forgot'. "We were just talking about how the town we're going to, in Mexico, is like an hour drive from my mums house." The boy was slow with his words, like he was trying to calm a wild animal. "And I just thought, I haven't seen her in a year, maybe I could just pay her a visit, say hi, catch up." "This is what you were so hesitant to tell me? That you wanted to go see your mum?" Lydia had never told any of her employees they couldn't see their family. Their homes, parents, kids, those were things Lydia could absolutely, never, possibly touch. "No, I was hesitant to tell you that I wanted to take Allison with me." "Oh." Lydia looked at him blankly. "I didn't even know you two were...-" "No! No, not like that, no. I just thought, it'd be nice...if y'know...they could meet." Lydia tried to hide a smile, she really did. As usual Allison was the face of indifference, not a single pang of red on her cheeks. "Well, you don't need my permission." The girl held her hands up in a surrender. She was prepared for the relived sigh that left Scott's mouth, what caught her by surprise was the way Allison's face seemed to light up like a Christmas tree. "I got the maps." The low English accent was too abrupt for the moment, but Isaac was oblivious to the atmosphere as he sat next to his boss in the black cushions. His hands held a road map with blue and red lines covering it like a game of snakes and ladders. He set them out on the coffee table, using the the books on astrology he brought with him to hold the curling corners down. When he realised he needed four weights not two, he took off his shoes and placed them on the end of the paper. "This is where the club is," he pointed to a point on the map surrounded by smaller roads and orange squares. "This is what they use to launder the money, everyone who works there is in on it, they will kill you if you screw up so, be careful." He looked Allison and Scott in the eye as he said the latter part, they knew what he was saying: _be careful for her_. Isaac had always had a fierce loyalty to his redheaded friend. "You'll need this card to get in," he pulled what looked to be a playing card out of his pocket and put it on the table, "it was difficult to get, so if you lose it I'm not getting another one. When they let you in, you'll need to find a way to get to Araya, that's up to you. She's sometimes on the premises, she's sometimes not. She has sons, four I think, if you can find them they'll take you to her. The family, it's err...tight. You don't wanna get in between them, y'know." All three heads nodded along in understanding. Lydia looked down at the trails of lines in front of her. The plan was shabby at best, keeping everyone alive was the only thing they were all sure on. "Once you start talking, what's the plan?" Allison voiced the boys' thoughts. Lydia was never very vocal on tactics. "Tell her to stick to the deal, and I don't know, I guess I'll have to find out what she wants first." "What if what she wants is your head? I think we're all forgetting that this could be just one elaborate plan to draw you out so she can kill you." Isaac didn't attempt to hide the frustration in his voice. "I'm telling you, I should be going too." "No, I need you to stay here, keep everything in check. New York is our base and I couldn't just leave it unprotected." The English boy sighed in defeat and fell back into the couch as if to emphasise his annoyance like a small child. Scott's eyes drifted down to his hands while Allison was staring hard at the map, the wheels turning mechanically in her head. After a beat or two Lydia broke the silence. "We can figure out the details on the plane." She collected the map and card in her hands, Allison flinched when the paper corner flicked up and shoes clattered to the ground. The short meeting came to an end as everyone rose to their feet. Scott was the first to make an exit, only stopping on his track to the door when an authoritative voice called out to him, he spun on his heel to face the source of it. "Scott, Stiles is coming too. I'll need you to make sure he gets on the plane at the same time as everyone else." Scott glanced at Allison first who was flicking her gaze between himself and Lydia. Isaac was still hunched over the coffee table, midway to reaching his sneakers, but when Lydia had spoken his head twisted to an uncomfortable angle to look up at her. The tanned boy hesitated for a moment between choosing what to say before nodding politely. His feet moved quickly to leave the room and the uncomfortable words behind. As soon as footsteps could no longer be heard Isaac went into motion, angrily gripping the heel of his shoe and tugging it onto his foot. "I can't believe you're taking the new kid instead of me. Like, what the fuck, Lyds?" His foot stamped onto the ground harshly now covered in one tatty sneaker that he could surely afford to replace. "I need to find out if he's useful." Isaac, now with two shoes on, followed her into the kitchen. "Well let me answer that for you. No. He is not going to be 'useful'. And he is going to be _exceptionally_ un-useful when you have a gun aimed at your head. He has no id-" "Un-useful isn't a word." Lydia pointed her finger to the sky matter-of-factly. "My point still stands." The boy settled both palms on the countertop, looking her in the eye over the kitchen island. When Lydia refused to answer he took that as permission to continue. "I don't even know why you hired him, I mean an 'advisor', when have you ever thought, 'oh golly, my life would be so much easier if only I could pay someone millions of dollars to whisper in my ear like an irritating little mouse'. He's trouble, I'm telling you." Lydia rolled her eyes in response. "Are you finished?" "That depends, are you still taking him to Mexico?" "Go home Isaac." "I'm looking out for you, I don't w-" "Isaac. _Go home_." He finally complied, not without an argumentative grunt thrown her way. "He has a point." Allison commented as she took a mug out from an overhead cupboard. "Why did you agree to it?" Allison was always more clever in her approaches than Isaac. Asking with curiosity instead of accusation. "I couldn't just let him walk out of here, you know that. It was either an agreement or murder, shouldn't you be proud that I chose the former?" "Don't act like I'm the only one who hates the latter." The girl didn't dignify it with a response. ... Lydia always flew with her private jet. Apart from reasons of comfort, it was also the best thing for privacy. Everyone on the plane was privately hired which meant it was easier to keep the occupants of the plane confidential. Peter hired and vetted each employee to do what was asked of them within reason and never speak of what happened on the journeys to anyone. It meant that she could fly out whoever she wanted without concern for what it might look like. Lydia climbed the steel steps one at a time. The railings were too cold from the frosty morning chill to hold onto so she was forced to move slower with fear of falling off. Alison's butt, clad in $50 leggings, was swaying in front of her as she too climbed up to the door. Inside was dim, with cream leather seats set precariously in a family-style layout. Sofas were opposite each other and chairs were back to back. It was still only 4:45, the plane set to take off in ten minutes. The sun was barely up, just creeping over the tops of the hills. Two coffees were already prepared on a fold out table. One non-fat latte for Allison and an iced soy caramel macchiato for Lydia. The girls sat opposite one another, each folding their legs over like 8 year old girls did to look fancy. Steam was spilling over the rim of the brunettes cup as she raised it to her mouth, she didn't so much as twitch while the steaming liquid fell onto her lips. Lydia kicked off her heels onto the carpeted floor with relief, a sigh making its way out of her mouth to match. "Six hours...I guess we should get comfortable." Allison agreed with a nod. She opened her mouth to say something else before the sound of metal clanging interrupted her. Both girls looked towards the doorway to see two puppy eyes appear. Scott was looking extra chill in sweatpants and a tee, he immediately found a spot next to Allison and grinned at her, the girl smiled back, putting away the cell she'd had in her hand since Lydia picked her up at 4am. Her eyes almost kept in focus on them, but a nervous shadow was hesitating in her peripheral vision. Her green eyes made their way back to the doorway to find a messy haired and sleepy eyed boy fiddling with his fingers. His eyes had trailed after Scott but after feeling the weight of another pair on him he turned to meet her gaze. Now he was facing her, the droopiness in his form was more obvious. His shoulders were slacked and his mouth hung slightly open. She had only spoken to him twice but she didn't need to be his soulmate to know Stiles was clearly not a morning person. "Uh...good morning." His left hand made an awkward half wave. She looked him up and down, a blue and red flannel with jeans. Not the most creative look but he pulled it off. "Sit." She gestured to the space next to her. His eyes slipped to Scott for a second only to find the boy too engrossed in a girl to be paying attention to Stiles. He made his way over to the leather seat that already occupied by an emerald eyed girl with fire for hair. She smiled sweetly as he sat down. She noticed the slight tremble in his fingers as he rubbed at his thighs, this was the only indicator she could see that he was nervous. A few awkward moments later the pilot instructed them it was time to take off and after a flamboyant fluster from Stiles they were all belted in. The vibrations rumbled through the floors and up Lydia's legs in waves. The plane drove along the Tarmac for a while, moving steadily. As it took off into the air, Lydia watched the boy next to her. He was staring out the window behind Scott with inquisitiveness etched onto his features. There was an air of purity around him that was rare in her line of business. He had something she'd never come across before. For a second Lydia thought it might be innocence, a childlike vision of the world everyone has until the day life fucks them over. Perhaps that day had yet to come for him. Soon enough the Tarmac turned to blue and the shiny city buildings were distant smudges. ... There was an animalistic snort that awoke him from his slumber. His head startled too much causing the boy to become unbalanced and slip clumsily on the leather. His arms flailed in midair and his legs kicked aggressively until he discovered an even distribution of weight. Stiles opened his eyes with the full intention on glaring at whatever had woken him only to find a single set of eyes on him. They were big and incredibly green, not to mention slightly irritated. He swallowed thickly before speaking. "What was that?" His voice was scratchy from sleep. "That? That was you. You were snoring." "No, no I don't-" "Yeah you do." The girls eyes downcast back to her book. "How long do we have left?" Stiles sat up straight, a twinge of red heating up his face, trying to flatten out his flannel so it wasn't as bed worn. "Not long, two hours maybe." "Where is everyone?" "Allison's in the cockpit, and Scott's been in the bathroom for the last ten minutes, I'm trying not to think about it." Stiles cringed with her. He looked down to the hardback book her eyes hadn't left for over ten consecutive seconds. It was angled flat so he couldn't see the cover. "What're you reading?" She tilted the book, her eyes never leaving the page, so he could see for himself, 'Development and Social Change, A Global Perspective, Third Edition'. Now, Stiles wasn't exactly the dumb one at school but in his 24 years of disappointing existence he'd never read enough books to have a 'third edition'. "What is that? Sociology?" "Yup." He felt the tiniest bit downtrodden that she was so insistent on not looking at him, as if he was not interesting enough to distract her from _sociology_. He took her inability for eye contact as a opportunity for deep analysis. Her hair was tucked behind her ears as if she'd been pushing it back repeatedly until it got to annoying. She had more makeup on now than she did the first time he saw her, but less than the second encounter. Her pale turquoise dress was buttoned down to the bottom where it hit the top of her thighs just low enough to still be conservative but not prudish. It was loose on her, having no elastic at the waist or belt on the hips. Her legs were creamy coloured and one was folded up under the other. Cute. "You're staring." It was said more matter of factly than accusatory. His eyes flashed up to find hers still zoomed in on the pages held in her hands. "What happens when we land?" Deflecting. "We get off the plane." She answered him simply. "Great idea." There was a chuckle weaved through his voice. "Eh, I can't take credit." She turned one of the pages gently. "Where do w-" "We've only got an hour and a half left, I suggest we go over everything now." Allison (?) ducked her head through the doorway before the rest of her body followed. Once she was halfway towards the couch Scott followed dutifully from seemingly nowhere and sat down beside her. Nothing was spoken as spreadsheets were laid out between them. He grabbed his coffee flask off the table before someone pushed it off with yet another map, they were ridiculously over prepared with the map situation. Stiles tried to keep up as they began formulating ideas on how to breach this highly exclusive club. He had been trained to do stuff similar to this but with the force it was much more...well, legal. He knew the woman they wanted to see was named Araya, she wasn't doing what she was supposed to be doing apparently. What that meant exactly, he wasn't sure. He got that they didn't want to be seen, neither did they want Araya to feel threatened. From what he understood about the plan specifically, he and Lydia would go in with some playing card thing, while Allison and Scott would fly in under the radar as backup or a rescue team if it came to that. That made Stiles nervous. There were few people he trusted with his life and no offence to Scott and Allison but neither of them looked to be any kind of marvel heroes. Also, he assumed that in this particular mission he was not number one on their 'must protect at all costs' list. He watched Lydia carefully as she debated with Scott about which entrance to use if they needed to come find her. He said the door behind the bar but Lydia was adamant they would use the VIP back door. He kept telling her they'd never get past the guards but it was no use. She had this kind of arrogance in her tone that his mother would have when she told him that no, Ant-man is not better than Spider-Man. He felt his lips quirk at the memory. In that singular moment Lydia reminded him more of his mother than the photos of her signature cheek kiss she did in all their photos combined. It felt wrong comparing his mother to her. His mother was purer that any woman he knew. Lydia was not this. The debate continued quietly and became quickly muted in his mind. Soon enough all disagreements were settled; Lydia winning every single one, and the plane landed swiftly and without interruption on the strip of concrete. He felt the rumblings of the wheels like warning shots, beating heavily and alarmingly in his ears. He watched absently Scott gulping from across the table, trying to ease the intensity on his ear drums. Soon enough the plane came to a halt and everyone unbuckled their seat belts with a groan. Stiles stretched out his legs, enthusiastic to get some air that wasn't just recycled from the other three occupants. A blonde woman in her forties opened up the plane doorway, the fly aways from her ponytail lifted gently with the sudden breeze as she shuffled around in black stilettos. Stiles quickly followed Lydia's lead as she made her way to the exit, her books and laptop neatly folded away in a storage cupboard. She took a first step without a moments hesitation to observe the new territory they were stationed. There was orange desert that stretched until it met blue in one harsh line. The sun was up and bright, burning down on the black tarmac without mercy. It was a starkly different environment to the last one he'd set foot on, no sky high cities or fluffy handbag pups. His feet were hitting the metal confidently and loudly, which of course made his momentary hesitance all the more obvious. You see, Stiles had never been to a country other that the US, so being here was a completely new experience, and in the time he had been distracted by said experience it had failed him to notice the people at the bottom of the stairs who were by all means not part of the experience. An older woman, perhaps around 50? Perhaps older than that, was stood expectantly on the ground. Three men - big men - were flanking her on either side. Their leather jackets and stern faces would've scared a weaker man. His moment of observation was thankfully shaken out of his body as he felt a hard push forcing him to continue down the stairs. Only when he reached the bottom did he really this push had come from Allison. The three of them filed out into a line behind the full head of strawberry blonde. Like pawns lining up for their queen. Although Lydia appeared calm a part of him knew she was quite the opposite. While he had paid little attention to the plan they had laid out he knew this was not a part of it, whoever the woman here to interrupt them was, she was not supposed to be here. "Lydia Martin." The woman spoke like she knew an inside joke that no one else got. She had a grin plastered on her face and it turned the boys stomach. "Araya." Lydia folded her hands politely as Allison muttered a curse under her breath. "I hope you don't mind that I took some initiative. I thought you would appreciate a ride to mi casa, that is where you were planning to go, yes?" The tension in the air was palpable, Stiles' fingers itched at his side. Lydia sighed and looked out to the desert contemplatively. She was weighing up her options with the face of composure. "I wasn't aware you'd been alerted to our arrival." "Well I have my ways." She gestured to the blacked out cars behind her. "We have much to discuss, please." Lydia hesitated for a moment, looking between the car and Araya. But the situations lack of options meant only moments later Stiles found himself staring out of a darkened window to miles of flat land, a strawberry blonde sat next to him imperturbable, and a stomach ache from muscles being tensed for the last hour. 


End file.
